


Clean Up

by Hellesgift



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Gore, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-02
Updated: 2013-06-02
Packaged: 2017-12-13 17:50:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/827111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hellesgift/pseuds/Hellesgift
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam had assumed that the worst thing with reanimation would be the mess.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clean Up

Sam had assumed that the worst thing with reanimation would be the mess. So he stocked up on plastic tarps, because even if a motel is abandoned, you don't want to leave it looking like an abattoir.   
  
But twelve blood-soaked hours later he realizes he'd been wrong. The worst thing is the noise, when Dean's body finally,  _finally_ jerks, and the eyes open, and then it starts screaming, slicing howls of horror and agony till Sam is almost ready to kill it again to stop the heartrending shrieks that are too much like how this all started.   
  
But he can't accept silence on those terms, so instead he grabs hard, holding the twisting, convulsing body against his own and muffling the screams against his shoulder. He shouts the last words of the incantation over the ever-increasing anguish in his brother's voice, until the sudden silence shocks him worse than the initial sound.  
  
And then he knows that neither the mess nor the sound nor the silence is the worst thing, when the body in his arms gasps for breath through still-healing lungs and stares at him in blank, unrecognizing horror.  
  
"What...what..."   
  
And Sam tries to stop it, because the voice doesn't sound like Dean, which, okay, shredded lungs, understandable, but the look in the eyes isn't Dean's look of exasperated affection, either. And it  _has_  to be Dean's look and Dean's voice.   
  
It has to be Dean.  
  
Sam can't accept anything else.   
  
"Shh, Dean, it's okay." Brushing away the ash and blood and...other stuff from where the cracked skull had healed, Sam presses a hard kiss to Dean's forehead, pretty much signaling to the world that it really isn't okay, everything is not normal here, folks, but hey, it's been a rough day.  
  
"What did you  _do_ , Sam?" the gravelly, painful voice bites out.  
  
"You want the technical answer?" Sam has to laugh, because dear old Dad hadn't been even remotely helpful on this one: everything else is in the damn journal but not that. Not the important...the really  _critical_  thing.  
  
Sam's body jerks in sympathy with the coughs, and he mirrors the painful grimace, but when the voice tries again it sounds clearer. The spell is obviously working. "Don't... Jesus, Sam, this is wrong. This is...undo it. Put it back."  
  
Meaningless, stupid-ass, illogical orders? That's starting to sound like Dean. Sam laughs at that, laughing until he can barely sit up, laughing until he falls back on the plastic, still holding onto his brother for dear life,  _literally_. Covering himself in blood and muck till it would be tough to guess which one of them had been fucking eviscerated tonight. Yesterday. Whatever.   
  
He laughs till he can barely breathe, and then he laughs some more as Dean fumbles him into a rough embrace.   
  
It's too funny. "Right.  _Right_. After all of this. Fuck off, Dean." He laughs until even he can tell it's not laughter any more. When one arm releases him to reach over for the knives still spread out from the ceremony he almost hopes Dean is taking charge as usual, ending it all. God, for both of them,  _please_.  
  
But it's only part of a moth-eaten bedspread that touches his face; Dean clumsily but carefully wiping blood away from Sam's eyes and mouth.   
  
He reaches up and grabs Dean's hand, holding him tighter than he'd had to hold the dagger and the flame. "I can't do this, Dean."  
  
"You can't...Jesus, Sam, you can do  _this_..."  
  
And, yeah, he can harness deepest evil and break the most sacred laws of nature. But not alone. "You have to be you, Dean, okay? I can't do this without you. Be you, okay?"  
  
Dean's eyes are still filled with horror; his mouth is still filled with blood; but Dean's hands grip until they bruise as he murmurs, "Shut up, Sammy," and holds Sam tight.   
  
Okay.


End file.
